I Walk Alone
by solista
Summary: Before Johnny came home.


_**I Walk Alone**_

"_My shadow's the only one that walks beside me._

_My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating._

_Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me,_

'_til then I walk alone."_

He watched the dry roadbed between the ears of his horse, the steeds head bobbing up and down in rhythm to the plodding hooves. It was growing dark and he would have to stop soon and make camp.

He and his compadre had been on the road for days now. Heading to another job offer, there would be the unleashed thrill of certain death if you moved a tad too slow, low pay if you were unlucky... and twice lucky if you lived to see tomorrow.

It was not as if he had a death wish, or to put himself in danger... well until he weighed both sides and calculated the outcome, did he consciously put himself in danger.

His profession did not guarantee a long life or a rocking chair on a porch at retirement, hell... it did not promise a thing but pain and loneliness.

Spotting a likely area for a camp, he turned the horse off the road into a thicket of trees. Surveying his surroundings he nodded, grass, water a big old boulder for his back... yeah this would do.

The tending of his horse was his first duty, could not risk being on foot out here. Johnny removed the saddle and bridle, putting the halter and lead rope so the animal was secure, but able to graze.

He always carried a brush for the animal, removing road grim and sweat from the dark coat his actions also relieved some of the tension and emotions he had built up in his own body and soul.

As he brushed, the dirt fell off and the coat began to shine, he wished it would be that easy to wipe away the darkness staining his soul. To let what he really desired to shine through and define him as different.

That defined him as different from what people perceived him to be. A cold hearted killer, intent on a reputation of death, unfeeling, empty.

Dios he was getting tired, the long days in the saddle, always alone with only a horse for companionship. The hiring of his gun to get enough money to buy a few months of quiet, a few days in a town enjoying a meal he didn't himself catch or cook.

Someone besides his horse to talk to, ok so he usually 'paid' for that conversation and a night in an actual bed, it was still a diversion from what path his life had taken.

Then when things were good, there was always something to grind it to a standing halt. "_Madrid"_ that call from out in a dusty street, that call that meant someone was going to die.

Since he wasn't ready to cash his chips in, he intended to be the one left standing... but it was getting old, he was only eighteen by calendar years, but much older in experience and anguish.

He could not remember the last time he had peace and quiet, since picking up the gun he had had no semblance of a normal life... hell he never had a '_normal'_ life...

He had always fought for an existence... for a place in this world... just a small piece of life. Finishing the grooming of his horse Johnny patted the strong neck, "Ok compadre get to yer dinner, while I go see what nature has ta offer my growlin' belly."

Making his fire ring, he set off to find wood for a fire and anything that did not run away too fast for his dinner. Anything would taste better than hard tack and water.

_**MADRID**_

Dinner over, the young man contemplated his luck at snaring the rabbit and finding a few coffee grounds in the bottom of his bag.

Settling back on his bedroll, hands behind his head he gazed up into the night sky and the stars twinkling down at him.

First things first, the next town he would get some supplies, he still had another day and a half to where his next job was.

He would buy some grain for his amigo, coffee, beans and some salt pork for himself. That water looked good... would do him good to take a quick bath and change his clothes.

He may not have had a mother, but nature would take care of him. Whatever he may need it was here under the sky, in the open ranges... other things were just material.

A good pair of boots, two pair of pants, two shirts and a good hat, whatever would you do with more than that.

He never had more than that in his young life... yeah life can sure kick ya in the head. Momma told him how they were not wanted by his gringo father and kicked them out when he was two... then I guess his Momma didn't want him either and left him at an orphanage when he was about seven.

He had stayed at the orphanage took everything the good nuns and padres had to offer. He had learned a lot there... how to read and write in English and Spanish being the main reason he stayed.

He had been taught how to sew a little, nuthin' fancy just to sew on a button or how to mend a rip. How to prepare a decent meal with what was on hand and right from wrong, he had learned that lesson the hard way.

He had also learned he could not stand by and let someone smaller get beat up on... not only to defend himself, but those not able to help themselves.

Those battles would end him up in hot water every time.

It was at the age of ten, as close as he could figure... Momma was never too good at remembering birthdays and holidays. He left the orphanage with a couple of older boys, it was then his real education began.

_**MADRID**_

Shifting to sit up and leaning his back against the boulder, he listened to the sounds of the night. He heard his horse dig at the ground a nervous digging.

The sound of a lone wolf calling in the distance making the horse nervous, the smaller animals chattering and scurrying in the dark, overhead the screech of an owl... life abounding around him, but there was still a loneliness only another human being could dispel.

He had been alone for so long it was just a way of life and he accepted it. There had been people along the way that wanted to be closer, to keep the young man from his self-imposed exile.

Johnny Madrid had no reason to want anyone telling him what to do or when to do it. He was a lone wolf, brother to the wind, a free spirit... he longed for...

Nothing, he longed for nothing, scooting back down he rolled himself in his bedroll.

No time for what ifs or wishes, this was his everyday life... a life he had chosen, his own path to follow

There are no tomorrows guaranteed, only the here and now.

Family was his horse, his six-gun and just a few people he called _friend_, there was no room for anyone else. The life of a gunfighter was a solitary one and he traveled that rode alone... but... "_Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me."_

_ps: just took a different view on what happened to Maria Lancer. It's still open to our own devious minds, why not take free rein._

_solista Jan. 2014 _


End file.
